


Shape Your Flesh - Episode I: The Heartland Kidnappings

by PrimeanScribe



Series: Tales of Darkness [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26262433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimeanScribe/pseuds/PrimeanScribe
Summary: When head of the Imperial Investigative Division, Thorus Blackward, got assigned the case of what should later be dubbed by the Cyrodiilic populace the "Heartland Kidnappings", he had no way of knowing just where this journey would take him.As he meets unlikely allies along the path of his own destruction, Thorus Blackward tries to uncover the truth behind a mass disappearance of citizens of the Heartland as he follows the trail of a dubious blood cult and their depraved leader.A terrifying adventure, spanning one continental province, two cities, layers of subterranean spaces and two dimensions, Shape Your Flesh tells the story of a cruel fate that tries to grasp even the faintest sliver of hope in the most inhospitable environment.Shape Your Flesh is divided into three episodes, 4 to 10 chapters per episode, and is a Work in Progress with Episode III already in the making.
Series: Tales of Darkness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908040
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter I

I

22nd of Hearthfire, 4E198

I deeply regret to inform you of my immediate resignment from my position as head of the Imperial Investigative Division as a result of my assignment to the latest case of mysterious disappearances throughout Cyrodiil, dubbed 'The Heartland Kidnappings'.

While the case has been solved and a corresponding report was filed, I must stress that the contents of the following pages shall not, under any circumstances, be viewed by unauthorized personnel lest civil unrest will spread I'm afraid.

As puzzled as I imagine you to be, the reasoning behind my rather abrupt decision to go into retirement will be made clear during this epistle I'm now writing at my desk.

The disturbing nature of the occurrences I discovered during my investigations into the abductions not only warrant a thoroughly detailed manuscript. Upon relaying this information to you, they will also sufficiently explain my choice in respect to abandoning my profession.

It all started upon our bureau receiving an innumerable amount of notices regarding the sudden and inexplicable vanishing of citizens throughout the entire province, invariably flooding my office with more grim news every day.

When the city guards had failed to properly look into the matter, I had been tasked with finding out what happened. Whence all the people went, before the problem got out of hand.

I had solved many a case during my time in the IID but never have I faced an iniquity quite as appalling as this. I was used to tracking down skooma dealers, persecuting outlaws or finding lost pets. This time however, I was required to close in on what I had at the time suspected to be a slaver ring or an unsavory group of people traffickers. When I accepted the case, I had no idea what horrors I would have to face.

As it is, under normal circumstances I would have one of my subordinates take care of it. Though notwithstanding the seemingly hopeless undertaking, seeing how every other instance had failed to unearth even so much as a hint pertaining to the missing, I was lured in by the prestige I would gain for solving it. 

And sure enough, honors and compensation were awarded in prodigious amounts. But at what cost?

When my investigation began, about a hundred people had already been taken, their number rising almost daily. 

Our division is, as you know, situated within the White Gold Tower of the Imperial City. A great, gleaming monument to our Empire's accomplishments. The bureau had been erected just a few years ago, ordered by the Emperor himself, when the population of bandits and marauders reached an unprecedented height. Someone needed to be put in charge of dealing with all the various ill deeds that went beyond common city guard affairs.

I sat at the desk I've made myself comfortable at so many times before, when I skimmed over all the pamphlets telling of family members who were suddenly gone the next morning, children who went out to play and never returned. Distant colleagues of mine, even, who never showed up for guard duty.

The situation was dire. None of it made sense. Based on our preliminary findings at the time, there was no causality betwixt one case and another. No links, no connections. It appeared as though the only thing the victims had in common was the fact they inexplicably dissolved into thin air.

I was stumped. No one knew anything, no one saw anything. With this large a number of abductees, how was that possible? Through the lack of a better option I did what any good investigator would do: I turned to the Dark Brotherhood.

The Dark Brotherhood had always been a force we could do nothing against. In fact, we all collectively hoped none of us would somehow end up on their to-do list.

Fortunately, over the years, I had managed to establish a contact within this unhallowed organization. By what means I had done this, I will not say. I will only say that, even though I'm part of law enforcement myself, it doesn't mean I cannot bend the rules to my favor. Likewise, I won't speak of that contact's identity. However they were paramount in ascertaining if we dealt with something we couldn't control or not.

As my first option, I've sent a letter to said person in hopes that the Brotherhood had just been blessed with an extraordinary influx of orders. That way, I could've closed the case on it being a 'Dark Brotherhood Matter' and leave it on the shelf.

A few days passed and soon, amidst the tsunami of notices of yet more strange disappearances, I espied the answer from my shady associate. However, upon ripping open the envelope in anticipation, the message contained only this:

"Things are bad. Too much to write on paper. Meet me within the abandoned house in Cheydinhal. We require your assistance."

I couldn't believe what I've just read. The Dark Brotherhood needs MY help? Unheard of. My forehead wrinkled as I looked at these lines. Though unbelieving as I was, I had no other leads to pursue. So I grabbed my weapons, put on my brown coat to conceal my armaments and some provisions for the trip and went.

I took a steed from the nearby stables and traveled along the Red Road, going east to the Blue Road to reach the Nibenay Basin wherein the city is located.

I arrived there by noon and stepped through the city gates from the west. Every time I travel to Cheydinhal I marvel at its beauty. The lush gardens, the pond and small river with that little wooden bridge, the peaked roofs of the neatly kept houses in their lilac shade. All serve to not only startle a potential visitor. It also helps retaining a peculiar inconspicuousness to the place that a certain murderous cult holds in high regards.

Not to lose any more time in this pressing matter, I quickly made my way to the specified dilapidated building. This house had always been in disrepair and I suspect it always will be. Surveying its outside, the inherent brokenness appears to be almost deliberate. Just as if one would attempt to clean a pile of trash by washing and rinsing the waste instead of disposing of it, this house was in such a sorry state because somebody kept it that way. Broken archways, shattered windows, rusted linings. Partly missing bricks from the walls and roof. All served to dissuade anybody from entering. Such trickery was nessecary to deter any uninvited guests.

In approaching the door, fumbling with my key ring, I made sure none were watching. When I pronounced the immediate area vacant, I swiftly slid in the key inside the rusty iron puncture, turned it and gently pushed open the old, battered door with audible creaking and moaning of both wood and strained metal.

As I've grown wont to from previous correspondences with my contact, not a soul appeared to be present. A clever deceit, however. For camouflage was an assassin's bread and butter and in this case, they were a master of the forgotten art of the chameleon spell. Imagine this: invisibility without the cost of the spell breaking as soon as any actions are taken. Truly, this was the primordial might from an era ago.

Behind a meekly fashioned table now started to appear the figure I had expected. Amidst cobwebs and dust piles, slowly but surely there materialized their shape behind the crude and ripped furnishings of this shunned house. What they would tell me, though, should leave me awestruck and clueless.

II

After speaking to my contact they confirmed that, to my dismay, the Black Hand wasn't involved. As macabre as it sounds, it would've made my work much easier if they were. Instead, my beliefs were tested upon mentioning that the Night Mother herself was speechless. Allegedly, the Listener had scheduled a meeting with the other four fingers just a few days ago. In the ensuing discussion, they made it abundantly clear that the organization's efforts were curiously hobbled by what they suspected to be an act of sabotage. 

It turned out that almost all who've been targeted from the Black Sacrament have vanished, just like that. Without a trace, unable to be assassinated and sent to the Darkness of Sithis. 

During that little get-together, the Listener enunciated that, upon communion with the Night Mother, she revealed that even with her tremendous powers, she did not possess such capabilities as to track the lost marks.

My eyes widened at this jaw-dropping revelation. All of a sudden, I wasn't so sure about my initial suspicions anymore. That even the wife to Sithis himself failed to keep up with the situation. The ramifications were unthinkable!

A growing sense of dread and uncertainty crept up my spine as I tried to picture what terrible power could hide those targeted by the unconsecrated ritual none would dare mention.

In a lucky turn of fate, just that day the Night Mother had, according to my contact, the location of one of those abducted. If the information was not an elaborate ruse, the victim was bound, gagged and stuffed into a crate on a horse carriage headed for the Imperial City. An assassin was already on their way, so I didn't stall for much longer. I hastily threw a pouch filled with gold pieces on the table, thanked my informant and rushed to my horse. I needed to reach that carriage before this trace was also lost.

I swiftly rode my steed back to the capital in pursuit of the perpetrator. When the city outskirts and the great island came into view I observed something one does not see everyday. 

A Brotherhood assassin, perched on a black mare, hunting a carriage full of wooden crates and boxes. I witnessed the contract killer jump off their mount and onto the wagon mid-ride in an elegant manner telling of high dexterity. They crawled to the front seat, kicked the driver off of it and bringing the entire thing to a trifling halt when one wheel broke and the wagon came crashing down, spilling its heavy contents all over the road just out of sight of the city guard.

Meanwhile, the remaining horses broke free of their bounds and dispersed in all directions.

The dubious character in charge of the transport attempted to flee. I was fast enough however, my steed quizzaciously running him over, stopping him in his tracks by stomping his left hand whereunto it was crushed beneath the heavy hooves.

While the suspect squealed in agony, the assassin came closer to us. Apparently I wasn't the only one eager to find out what's happening. The tenebrous clad elf had already drawn her dagger from a femoral scabbard perpendicular to her thigh. Visibly agitated she approached me and the pinned-down man of slightly hunched stature, unkempt and ragged not betraying a sad smell of skin that hadn't seen any water in years. In my eyes definitely not the leader or any higher-up of whatever criminal group I was hunting for.

The shadowy dressed killer in her combat gear shot me a queer look from behind her mask before she bent down to press the dagger's sharp edge on the man's larynx. She held her mouth unconformably close to his ear and whispered threateningly:"The victims. Where have you taken them?", all the while quaint streams of blood started to appear on his throat.

That woman meant business. 

After his plight for mercy had been ignored by the two of us, his gaze nervously darting back and forth between the Dunmer and me, he finally complied to questioning. He told us that his only orders were to load up and transport crates from various points of origin and deliver them to a hidden grate that supposedly led to the Imperial City's sewage system. 

About the contents of the aforementioned boxes he knew nothing. From my experience in this field, I could tell that he was honest, his statements truthful. Albeit I also spotted a hint of panic and fear in his eyes as I observed them. Just as if he was begging me for help to stay alive.

I suppose he couldn't believe I'd do nothing about the presence of such an obvious member of the Dark Brotherhood. To his misfortune, I did just that. Nothing. I had no intention to interfere in business matters of the one organization I frequently dealt with. And so, the Dunmer aspirated "Thank you", driving the blade into the man's throat. After some gurgling, his eyes rolled backwards and the familiar light of life faded. 

The ash-skinned elf went over to the dubious crates thereafter, broke one open and revealed a squirming linen bag the size of a person rolling out of it. In but a second, two swift movements ended their misery, staining the fabric a bright red.

Then she turned to face me. " I'm surprised you didn't try to stop me, Imperial lap dog", she scoffed.

"I had no intention to", I replied, softly smiling." In fact, I do believe we could aid each other".

Her gaze told of utter disbelief, prompting the question as to how. I told her I was in search of the origin of the disappearances, intent on tracking down its source and eliminate it. When she answered that she was tempted to occupy herself with the very same thing, I proposed we work together on solving that elusive mystery.

She hesitated for a moment, thinking things through. After a while, she agreed. To this day, I can't say why she did. But in retrospect, it doesn't matter anymore anyway.

"Let's free the remaining abductees, then we'll head off to find that sewer entrance" the elf announced sharply. In acquiescence I followed suit and cut loose the bounds on the captives. Some of them looked terrified beyond belief and dispersed instantly, some thanked us. Others were only relieved they could finally go home.

Afterwards, I proceeded with the shadowy Dunmer woman towards the secretly hidden grate we've been told about.

And although she didn't tell me her name or shook hands, I had a sense she had already acknowledged me as her business partner. Companionship forged from necessity should thusly soon grow into a symbiotic relationship.

III

I could tell that the premise of prestigious honors among her kind upon tying up all those loose ends drove her to investigate further. Not to forget the promise of payment. A corroborating nod confirmed my hypothesis when I questioned her about it. 

I had no qualms working together with a member of the Brotherhood. We had the same goal. Truth be told, I acted outside protocol myself every now and then. Crushing various delinquents' body parts during an interrogation was only the tip of the iceberg, to say the least. But I always got my assignments done, no matter what. As I also intended to with this most recent case.

We were well underway when the clouds above us tore asunder, rain pouring out of the sky's vault. We had almost arrived at the bridge leading to the city grounds proper when we started to look for an out-of-place grate.

In hindsight, we probably should have kept that trafficker alive to at least show us where the entrance lay. Alas, we offed him. So we were stuck looking for an aperture in the dirt nobody seemed to know existed in the first place. The liquid downpour didn't make it easier as well, as we had to wade through a thick layer of mud and soft earth.

My brown, knee-long coat which concealed the leather armour as well as my armaments underneath it gradually soaked with rain and grit. Amidst the light fog that started to develop around us, the assassin finally spotted a curious piece of metal embedded into the side of the isle the Imperial City was built on. Slightly obfuscated by floral camouflage, situated right beneath aforementioned bridge. The two of us moved towards it and thereby acquired shelter from the uncomfortable weather that had just come down upon us.

Her armour, dark as the night sky, was equally as damp as mine. I noticed her cumbrous breathing through the drenched mask that covered her face. We reached the anomaly within the dirt and halted for a moment.

With an annoyed yet confessing sigh, the Dunmer took off the mask and hung it onto one of the many belt-like appendages the traditional Brotherhood armor sported.

She revealed a face of staggering elven beauty. Her pulchritudinous appearance was amplified even further as soon as she pulled back her cowl, letting her long, wavy, white hair fall back to cover her neck. A feminine complexion, almost feline, with high cheekbones, a slightly pointed chin and a slim jaw accentuated her thin, grey lips and nose. A pure, dark grey skin not betraying a hint of tenderness framed her piercing, blood red eyes that shot me a disdainful glare.

"Now that you've seen my face, I might as well tell you my name. I'm Nephethys." We shook hands. "Thorus." I replied, unsure if any additional words might offend her. 

We quickly went down to business again and wiped away the obscuring vegetation from the grate. Now, the ironwork was exposed. A small hole, barely high enough to crawl through. On first try the partly rusted door did not budge. Fiercely kicking it did the trick however, causing it to screechingly open up. 

Nephethys and I looked at each other for a second before turning our heads to gaze into the brooding dark ahead.

We couldn't make out any definite features amongst the shadows of this incredibly narrow tunnel that was evidently designed for the sole purpose of delivering precisely sized crates. Or coffins. 

Yet again I reminded myself that even the Night Mother was unable to tell where all the marks went and another shudder ran down my spine. There was something gravely portentous to it all and Nephethys and I intended to shed some light on this mystery 

We inhaled. A growing uneasiness spread among us. She also no doubt was aware of how precarious of a sentiment this was. Sithis' wife failing to track down her victims. Notwithstanding her initial hesitation, she quietly went down into the unknown. I followed her shortly after. How deep would this rabbit hole go? I wondered.

Of all the things, she and I certainly didn't expect to slide downward. But upon shoving ourselves through the narrow mound, we did, picking up an obscene amount of filth on our garments in the process.

We soon landed on a coarsely assorted pile of broken planks, prompting a cloud of splinters to rush up into the air. My newly found dark elf companion stood off to the side, giving me an inquisitive look. We shifted our gaze to the left to spot another pile. That one was composed of roughly sewn linen sacks, partly bloodied and unmoving.

A grim premonition formed in my mind as I looked at them. My ill suspicions proved correct as Nephethys cut open one of the bags, revealing a dead, somewhat decomposed body of a young boy who probably died from falling onto the hard ground. Not only did it appear that by perusal of this dirt-slide, the captives have been brought hither. Moreover, it looked like that spot in particular was used to discard any that didn't quite make it. A sickening cogitation. To end like that. Who in their right mind would commit such atrocities? Furthermore, failing to give proper burials?

Then another wave of nausea brushed over me as I beheld a few rather empty sacks that were only filled with some fleshy remains and entrails.

Of course, I thought, who needs graves if there are other uses for the cadavers? Though, was it something or someone that had been feeding on these?

Nephethys and I surveyed our surroundings closely. We found ourselves in a circular chamber of dark and mossy brickwork. The pungent odor emphasized the overall humid air and damp vegetation that sprouted from within the walls' fractals and indentations. The floor consisted of wet, anthracite masonry moistened with thin streams of water, partly coagulated blood and some indeterminable fluid of brown-greenish hue. In the center of the room lay a built-in drain, presumably for liquid waste or, in this case, drippings of a more sanguinary nature.

The space was sparsely illuminated by a single torch that hung from the ceiling, casting queer shadows on the cold stone. Breathing proved to be rather difficult in the invariably foetid and unforgiving humidity.

I always despised sewage pipes and other forms of architecture of their ilk. Now that my skin appeared to moisten all on its own in this almost aquatic atmosphere even more so. I could feel the grit and despicable waste on my body despite not having actively touched any which was a good reason to stay away from such filthy places.

I also felt sorry for Nephethys as her choice of body protection was most unfortunate, given the climate in this dimly lit vault.

After a few moments of observing the area, we spied an exit archway that led deeper into the twisted maze of aqueducts and tunnels of the underground. We had no choice but to move forward, the mud slide we used to enter being inaccessible from the inside.

Just when we started moving towards the foreboding blackness, footsteps could be heard. Heavy ones, fast approaching. 

Nephethys readied her dagger, I produced a steel short sword from within my coat. Both of us didn't know what to expect. In fact, in my line of work I never knew what to expect. Hence I never went anywhere without sufficiently arming myself. In most cases, I kept said short sword and a knife on my person. Also, albeit concealed, I carried with me a prototype projectile weapon that had only recently been developed and awaited field testing. According to the engineers who created this thing, it functioned by igniting an explosive alchemical compound, the resulting force propelling a small iron ball forward with riveting speed. From what I've heard, this metal tube with a trigger akin to that of a crossbow possessed stunning destructive power.

I dared not use it however, for I've been told it'd emanate an ear-shattering noise when activated. But someday, it may come in handy.

We readied ourselves when out of the yawning void stepped a humanoid figure clad in a crimson robe. Their face hidden by a long, waving hood. Upon spotting us, they seemingly stopped in surprise for just a moment. 

Suddenly and without warning some form of detestable, fleshy talon lunged at us from within their left sleeve. Nephethys and I dodged the assault just in time. She responded by throwing her dagger at the assailant, its blade burrowing deep into their left shoulder. 

The figure staggered backwards. I seized the opportunity and rushed forth, sword in hand. The swung blade cut through the air with a high pitched sound, delivering a singular strike to the enemy's throat, slicing it wide open.

The gashing laceration spilled haemal fluid on the walls and floor as well as the robe, although it being barely visible on the latter. 

The robed person attempted a last attack with their terrible claw but missed me by a few inches before collapsing to the ground and expiring.

This abrupt change of pace should spell ill fate for our endeavor. A bad omen made manifest as we knelt down to closely inspect the aggressor. 

For we could hardly believe what we saw. Our brains seemed to melt in horror when we pulled back the cowl. A sight so extraordinarily perverse, even a Dark Brotherhood assassin such as Nephethys was utterly repulsed at the vista we now beheld.


	2. Chapter II

IV

"By Sithis!". This was all Nephethys had to say when the two of us stared into the faceless visage. However, the skin appeared to be queerly rippled. Just as if small patches had been artificially put together to form a coherent layer. 

I reached out to touch the featureless being to discover that, to our horror, I was correct. When my fingertips brushed coarsely over the dry and almost leathery rough surface, big flakes of skin came off, revealing the man's actual likeness.

Completely discombobulated I couldn't contain a whispered "What?!".

Meanwhile, Nephethys' expression froze. With what emotion I was unable to tell, though speechless she was like a Night Mother without Listener.

Even more grueling, beneath that false dermal layer was a mutilated face, nightmare made material. His eyelids and lips were absent resulting in a terrifying grimace, a rictus of beastly proportions. His ears had been cut off as well and his head lacked any kind of hair.

I exhaled to brace myself before I ripped open the crimson robe to reveal the deceased's entire body. I covered my mouth as I beheld his chest, legs and abdomen being covered in torn pieces of skin foreign to his own. Here and there the tan was a tad off, some of the flakes were already dried and crumbled on touch.

Beneath this gruesome and insanely sickening coating lay a thin layer of dried blood. Probably used as the adhesive.

The very premise was upsetting. Nauseating. Moreover, neither my Dunmer companion nor I could hazard a guess as to why on Nirn  _ anyone _ would even think of wearing another one's skin. Let alone it being in nasty shreds. For what purpose had this been done?

However, amidst all the corruption we noticed that his left arm was weirdly intact. A normal hand, albeit covered in unhallowed remains, with corresponding arm poked out of the sleeve. No fleshy claw or talon to be seen. Was this just clever visual deceit? Or something more unholy? I had seen this red, pointed thing lunge at me with force. How is it that his arm isn't modified accordingly? What was going on?

The blasphemous vista of the dead man was too much for both of us. So we hesitated not in dragging the body towards one of the empty linen sacks. A trail of peeled skin formed in the corpse's wake as we pulled him, making me feel dizzy from its prospect alone. At once, we stuffed him in a sack and rolled him over onto the pile, never to look at him again.

Nephethys and I shook our heads. I had expected much. Perhaps a deformed quadruped or a demented necromancer. Daedra, even. But not this. Not a skinman, as we would later refer to him.

While we rested from the ordeal, I ate and drank something and tried to recover. I understood, now, that something was wrong here. It just wasn't right. Even to this day I can hardly believe it.

After our much longer than planned rest, we gazed at the archway into nothingness again. "Come on", Nephethys said, walking towards the darkness with uneasy steps. I moaned somewhat before I've set myself in motion. And so we resolved to press on. After all, there was nowhere else to go. But we didn't venture forth unto the unknown without a sense of dread that caused cold sweat to moisten our shaky palms. For we were afraid to encounter more of these skinmen. Worse even, we were anxious towards the implications; the answer to the question in regards as to where he had taken the skin from.

Slowly, carefully, we braced that pungent abyss whence that figure came from.

As much as I viewed the sewer systems with disdain, I had been inside of them a couple of times before. Usually in pursuit of elusive thieves and criminals that tired to seek shelter amidst the foul waters and mouldy stone. Though never have I traversed malodorous tunnels as dank as these. In my experience, the liquid waste disposal facilities beneath the Imperial City were at least dimly illuminated. This passage however turned out to be shrouded in an almost impenetrable darkness. As it was, we could barely see what was ahead of us. 

Sparking the question as to how that robed man could navigate these decay-infested corridors. Then again, his face was completely coated, making him blind. How he knew where to go at all puzzled me. 

Through the all-encompassing blackness we thusly crept, feeling our way forward by sticking to the walks that framed each path until our vision adjusted. Those aimless wanderings were long and tiresome. But in time, we began to make out shapes among the shadows and wet mist of this seemingly forgotten place.

At length, it became clear that we had haphazardly stepped into a discontinued part of the city's drainage system. The lack of light down there was one indicator. Another piece of evidence was how we did not observe or hear any actively flowing waters. Although we picked up on drops frequently hitting the ground, we were sure this particular compartment was disconnected from the rest. 

Even the oozing architecture itself appeared to be slightly off. Cross sections with drains in the middle were highly unusual and unused in the actual sewers. Additionally, the presence of these hinted at an even deeper underground layer. Upset with uneasiness at the prospect of being trapped in an inaccessible maze we pressed on for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, in the distance through the dim fumes and vapours, Nephethys and I spotted some pale light of reddish hue at the end of a corridor.

The convoluted layout of the underground had cost us a prodigious amount if time and strength as well as some provisions so we were glad to have come by a possible exit.

As we approached the faint glow, our nostrils picked up on a smell of iron and foetor emanating from the slightly luminous aperture.

Both of us already guessed at what such odors may represent. And as we had a cogitation of picturesque vividness in our minds pertaining to what we presumed may lie behind the entryway we sighed yet again. For we feared to encounter more death and famished cadavers. We weren't prepared for what should then grace us with its presence.

V

The two of us walked up to what we hoped was an exit doorway to lead us out of the damp aqueducts. We believed, though, that it would only lead us deeper into the pit.

We weren't at all surprised upon entering the cracked stone archway to find a flight of stairs leading down. We were stunned however at the fact that these stairs disembogued into a surprisingly large chamber. To our astonishment we now also knew what happened to most of the abductees.

When we descended the stained stone steps down into the approximately fifty meters long hall, the sharp stench of blood, death and decomposition burned through our mucous membranes in an ardently malicious fashion.

We held our breath. Our movement ceased. 

The two of us caught sight of an unnameable perversion of both nature and architecture. This big room that, judging from how it had been constructed, appeared to be originally intended for gathering large amounts of sewage in one place. The sides of the big open space were adorned with ducts, grates and pipes to let the water conglomerate in one spot from which it could be sent to a different location.

However, to our terror, what we laid our eyes on looked much more like an ossuary than anything else.

Countless skinned bodies hung from the ceiling with their flesh completely exposed. Some of them were brutally mutilated, their arms and legs carven to the shape of spears, poles and blades.

The meat of their extremities has been sliced away to reveal their bones, shaped into what looked to us like weapons. The corpses also sported a central laceration to their chest, out of which oozed nastily pungent fluids.

The ground was overrun with pools of blood, piles of discarded carnal matter, bone, marrow and sinew. In this evil concoction of corrupted substances lay even more bodies, dead, unclothed. Maybe they were unfit for skinning? Or yet to be scalped and processed. 

Nephethys and I were shaken at the prophetic import of the sanguine 'décor' of the chamber. If this is where the skinman retrieved his insane coat from, by the sheer number of hung cadavers there must be many more of his kind.

Reluctantly and not without gagging, only with difficulty holding in my lunch, we pressed on. Into this mad domain of broken spirits and desecrated humanity.

Soon, we noticed a lectern in the center, mounted on which a big, black book of unknown origin. Perhaps, I thought to myself, this tome might yield some answers if we can get our hands on it.

Wading through the repulsive red sludge, almost tripping over the lifeless victims lying face-down on the defiled floor. We drew closer to the volume perched on the stand ahead.

My heart dropped when out from the scarlet slime emerged a faceless, naked figure of female silhouette dressed in the very same patchwork of skin we saw earlier. She gently meandered over to the strange book before we could reach it. Nephethys clumsily hurled a dagger in her direction to stop the nightmarish woman but missed amongst the vomit-inducing vapours. It was too late.

The human shaped blank slate opened the book, stretched out her hand towards the ceiling and quietly mumbled a phrase underneath her breath.

Shortly after, she let herself tumble backwards into the viscous, carnal mass only to quickly rise up again dressed in a crimson robe.

She took the time and with it sort of 'dissolved' into the ether.

By that time, I wondered if we had inadvertently stumbled upon some kind of twisted cult. A blood cult perhaps. The thoughts soon dispersed when the entire room started trembling.

Up from the ground rose spiraling streams of detestable purport, connecting to the corpse's up above in a stomach churning display of unconsecrated blood magic. Just now I could spy alien runes their bones have been embellished with as they started to radiate with an ancient energy. Suddenly the bodies started squirming and writhing, giving off an unnatural noise.

The misshapen entities sucked up the life force like sponges and began dripping, the hitherto dry muscles now glistening, reflecting the faint light the source of which we could not detect.

Now alive and conscious, they cut themselves loose by perusal of their cleaved limbs whereunto they splashingly hit the floor. Seven of them now stared at us with eyeless sockets and exposed skulls.

Filled with misintent, the monsters engaged us, their leg bones slicing through the beastly remains to our feet. Out of desperation, I pulled out my prototype weapon which has been nicknamed the 'Cloudbreaker' and aimed at one of the terrifying miscreants. I pulled the trigger, causing a raucous thunderclap to reverberate throughout the vaults. As my ears rung from the explosion the iron ball shot forward to obliterate the creature's head, sending human debris spraying everywhere.

The pipe of my handheld device of destruction smoked. I stashed it away into my coat again for reloading was cumbersome and took longer than I had time at my disposal.

Concealing her confusion at my armaments, Nephethys slid out a second dagger from her hip scabbard and got ready for imminent slaughter. 

I, on the other hand, stuck to my trusted short sword. A sharp, double edged steel blade with a pointy tip not unlike the classic gladius.

The remaining six monsters closed in. One jumped at me with mindless fury. I deflected its vile bone shiv with my sword. It quickly attempted a second strike with its other arm which I managed to duck under before backstabbing the thing in the spine. My weapon's tip protruded out from its stomach. I cut it in half with an upwards motion, causing the beast to collapse.

At the same time, Nephethys battled two of them. She expertly dodged, even dancing around and in between their assaults. Crouching, rolling, even jumping over the monstrosities' tireless attacks. She stopped one of the graven bones in mid-air with her gloved hand and broke it off with some leverage by kicking the corresponding arm away from her.

Subsequently, the figure got turned around by a few degrees, prompting the Dunmer to stick the osseous appendage into its neck, piercing the throat after which it went limp.

By now I had managed to reload my Cloudbreaker as Nephethys bought me some time with holding off the undead threat. I was close to running out of the mixture required to fire it. I laid waste to one more horror, splattering the surrounding area with yet more blood. Now, two were left.

To our bafflement, the chest of one of the two tore asunder with utmost violence, revealing the insides in a ghastly display of daemoniac anatomy. The ribs stretched outward, morphing into what looked like crooked wings of muscle tissue.

With audible groaning it sped right at me, conveying some finesse in its locomotion heretofore unobserved on its kin. Before I could adequately react, it bent its 'wings' to embrace me with them. I was being held in a tight grip, unable to move, its beating heart hammering contemptibly against my own. The thing threatened to bite me when I managed to produce my dagger from its sheath, driving it deep into the femur.

It let go of me with a loud screech. I slashed at its internal organs with fervor during its temporary torpidity killing it in the process. In that instance I had only narrowly averted a terrible fate.

The last one of these dripping, moist deformed creatures rushed at my companion on all fours, the bones clicking while it moved in an arachnoidal manner. When it reached her, it tried to slash my partner to slices by somersaulting in her direction. Fortunately she had the presence of mind to slide underneath it during its cartwheeling attack. While she slid across the wet floor, Nephethys made an incision from the throat all the way down to the thing's groin. Thereunto the guts leaked out as it landed in the human waste we had been battling upon, unmoving. 

Exhausted, we caught our breaths. My Cloudbreaker had one last refill. In the hiatus we've now been blessed with, I reloaded the weapon. Nephethys made an effort to replace the one dagger she had lost prior to the combat when she missed that damnable skinwoman who brought this calamitous downpour of adversity upon us in the first place.

She surveyed the area in search of the tuned bone blade she had broken off earlier. Eventually, she found it still stuck in the corpse she had offed with it, pulled it out and sheathed it into one if her belts her armour was outfitted with.

Our respite was only short though, as Nephethys intended to inquire about the Cloudbreaker but her words were cut short when we beheld a red cloud materializing in front of us, warping into the corporeal shape of the robed woman who had previously disappeared. She still held that damnable black book, going for another invocation. Her plans were foiled however when my Dunmer companion hurled the bone blade, impaling the tenebrous tome to the woman's right hand.

She threw both book and bone onto the floor into the bloody puddles. What happened next, though, bent our minds.

Her left underarm inexplicably split in half from hand to elbow. Twisted blood magic then contorted and morphed both halves into a giant talon each, amounting to two claws of sizeable dimensions ripping apart the garb's sleeve. It dawned on me by what might the other skinman, or cultist, had assaulted us and how it came to be his hand was entirely unscathed while we inspected it postmortem.

Her blank visage seemed to impossibly stare at us with implacable disgust and condemnation even though the dermal coating revealed no eyes.

This Blood Maiden lunged forward in an effort to behead us both with her corrupted appendage, missing us only just. I could feel a thin strand of hair being removed from my head. The opponent turned around only to be greeted by our sharpened steel. Our strikes had been deflected though we hurt her nonetheless. She fought with an arm after all, not a forged kind of weapon. 

Our enemy raised her right hand, an ominous light gathering around it. Then a stream of magic connected to me, sapping my life force. As her injuries closed, I felt my own strength forsake me.

Nephethys managed to interrupt the deathly spell, avoided a potentially fatal blow from the split arm by swirling around it and forcefully drove her weapon's tip into the corresponding limb. The maiden responded with a muffled shriek under her coat of cracked skin and shoved the Brotherhood assassin away with the arm's backside, sending her flying into the abominable sludge. 

I recovered my stance and stood face to face with the enemy. While she was still occupied with the weight of her twisted appendage turning around in my direction, I stabbed her chest in order to kill this evil.

I had not expected however that this would lead to an even greater peril. I pulled out the sword from the robed woman's body and thought she'd collapse. Instead, she laid her injured right hand on the gaping wound and uttered a phrase in a foreign tongue. The skin suddenly soaked with blood before the entire body burst open, a wraith-like apparition emerging from the corporeal shell that was human once. A semi-ethereal entity composed of bodily fluids, a skull and a dripping coat of coagulations. Nightmare made material. An unheard of thing.

It pointed a finger at me and gazed into my soul with glowing eye sockets before it screamed and gripped my throat. A searing pain coursed through my blood vessels. However, I was puzzled when it suddenly let go of me, turned around and vanished into the distance.

I didn't know what catastrophe the red hand print would mean for the remainder of the journey. Nor did I know that it should stay with me for a while.


	3. Chapter III

VI

The aftermath of our recent combat was nigh unbearable. The two of us were littered with small cuts and bruises. Moreover, we were covered in bits of flesh, bones and other bodily substances, completely drenched from the surrounding sanguine fluids. Nephethys looked extraordinarily bad, her long white hair now a deep wine red, sticky with coagulations.

When my senses properly returned to me, I instantly felt dizzy. I couldn't help but vomit, spewing out what I had eaten earlier. This endeavour became much more strenuous than I had ever expected it to be. Even the Dark Brotherhood assassin admitted that the adversities were way more grim than she could've fathomed on her own.

Both of us took a moment to recover, regain some strength. When we finally did get back up on our feet, we decided it was high time we left this traumatizing place.

To our misfortune, the book our most recent adversary had carried fell into the sludge of meat and organs, unable to be read. Its pages soaked and the ink blurred beyond recognition.

So with only the lingering death on our clothes as evidence, we left the ossuary through yet another archway at the far end of the hall. It led us into a corridor which connected to a set of smaller chambers adjacent to each other.

Our legs were still sort of shaky as we trod the filthy path in hopes of more lenient scenery and lifeforms. I in particular had trouble breathing, the handprint on my throat still burning unrelentingly. It felt as though it singed my larynx every now and then, pulsating agonizingly in my flesh. The fact that I recently expectorated acidic stomach contents only served to amplify this weakening effect. It was like a curse I didn't know how to break.

Nevertheless, we pressed on. While she and I had been mentally shaken to the very brink of destruction, we knew we had to move if we ever hoped to get out of here.

And there it was again. That creeping terror of being trapped interminably. Deeply rooted fears started to resurface when hurtful childhood memories began to blind my inner eye with fright.

I held my forehead for just a second when a high pitched tone began to confuse my sense of hearing. Reeling, I closed my eyes breathing heavily. When I opened them again I suddenly found myself in my old cellar. A place I've come to fear when I was but a toddler. I heard my father's voice shouting.

"And you'll stay in there 'til mornin'! Repent fer yer misdeeds!".

I had been locked in like so many times before, for my father's strictness was unparalleled. But all I did was to run into the table while playing. I didn't intend to shatter the plate! But there I was, a small boy again with no way out. The only candle that meekly illuminated the basement was both boon and curse, as it provided light but also weirdly winding shadows that seemed to come alive and close in.

I ran up the stairs banging against the door. My plea for release was ignored. In silence, the moving shades drew nearer. One of them reached out and touched my face. Suddenly a stinging pain spread across my cheek. I closed my eyes and shrieked when another hand hit my head.

Then I heard a voice call to me.

"Thorus!" It yelled. "Snap out of it! Thorus!". 

I opened my eyes again. I observed Nephethys readying herself to slap me. Her look told of worry but also of a slight annoyance. 

"Stop! I'm fine! Nephethys! Halt!" I begged. She lowered her hand and inquired about my state of mind.

"It's nothin', really", I said. "This place just gettin' to me a lil' bit is all. Not used'ta seein' so much blood in one place".

I tried playing it off with a laugh, though I don't know if she bought it. I never explained to her that enclosed underground spaces without any graspable exit frighten me. But maybe, I thought, this experience can purge my childhood fears. And while I can now say that it did, during the oncoming journey new phobias seem to have developed that limit my professional judgement.

Nephethys let out a mocking "Hmph!" and shot me somewhat of a disappointed glare. Then we continued moving through the dank hallway towards new horrors.

VII

Our only solace in this godforsaken sewer was that after the alleged ossuary, the tunnels and chambers appeared to at least have  _ some _ kind of luminescence to light our path. While treading in darkness awarded us blissful ignorance, navigating now was much less difficult.

We walked for some time, exploring the next few chambers that were akin to some twisted slaughterhouse. 

One was littered with stakes, impaled on which were an assortment of humans and elves, both with and without skin. One was even still alive visibly begging for help. Though there was nothing we could do, for removal from the pole meant death, as did all other options, so we let him be. 

Another room had multiple bodies chained to the walls and ceiling in salient patterns similar to runes or other letters. They had long since bled out due to horrible dismemberment. At this point we asked ourselves just how insane one had to be to commit such atrocities. At least it was now evident that whoever was responsible for the disappearances must be here somewhere. Just for what purpose did all these people get sacrificed? In that almost mindless kind if way no less? I noticed that the manner in which the murders had been done radiated a religious quality.

And as I have come to know during this case, a religion based on the gruesome foundation of blood magic is not to be trifled with.

After a good while of wandering about the Tamrielic equivalent of Oblivion, Nephethys and I were awestruck when we beheld a piece of architecture that was impossibly off. At the far end of a nauseating hallway, lined with grates on either side presenting to us mutilated, partly decayed corpses that appeared to be walled-in for what I fathomed to be some kind of morbid accessory, was a peculiar door of curious origin.

Its existence down here alone might tell of the reason why the construction of this sewage compartment had been abandoned.

Though what cogitation had worried me most were the implications it had on this investigation taking into account the fact that not only nobody knew about this place, but also as to why it was kept a secret. Why mages and scholars weren't allowed entrance. Because what the two of us now gazed at was a white, marble Ayleid door, eras old but still preserved perfectly.

We both gasped in awe at the ancient gateway. Designed with traditional Ayleid principles in mind, it was a single stone door, rectangular in appearance. In its center sat a chiseled circle, as was customary for the architectural grandeur at the time. To think that after we had witnessed this hell, we would step inside such a ruin!

Though worrisome it was that the red ghost that emerged from the Bloodmaiden's body had not showed up yet. Since we saw no other exits or entrances, I suspected the ghastly apparition his within the antediluvian halls ahead. Furthermore I feared that the remainder of corpses and cultists could be found beyond that entryway as well, leading us right into the lion's mouth. As I basked in concern, my throat burned again, almost bringing me to my knees provoking a vigorous coughing fit.

Usually, one would send at least a hundred men to clean these vaults and mazes, if not to arrest the perpetrators. However, Nephethys and I were on our own. Thus, we could only pray to survive whatever ordeals we may face. 

I observed the Dunmer killer's hitherto outstanding combat abilities. She and I made a great team. Was it enough, though, to win against the looming evil ahead?

In light of all that had heretofore transpired, she didn't even ask about my Cloudbreaker anymore. 

"I just want to punish the guy responsible and get out of here" is all she told me when I requested she tell me about her status. 

"Let's open this gate then.", I replied. She acquiesced in silence.

I slowly approached the remarkably old stonework and pressed my hands against it. In doing so I noticed it consisted of two halves, meant to open up simultaneously. The Dunmer came to my aid. Together, we shoved it open, a sight of pure elven antiquity revealing itself to us. But our time for admiration of this serenity was short lived. A vile shambling was birthed from the corridors behind us.

We turned around and peered into the latent malignity of the aqueducts in front of us. It became abundantly clear what this noisome shuffling heralded when the first few of many resurrected cadavers came into view.

After some paralyzing moments have passed, an army of queerly contorted, skinned and partly decomposed things charged at us from within the insane bowels of the defiled sewers.

An obscene amount of blood marked their noxious path. They were on the hunt. And we were their prey.

Countless enemies closed in swiftly, their daemoniac stench gripping us before even the first of these nature defying miscreants came into reach. The fastest of them we could fend off with relative ease. Four or five were felled by our combined efforts to buy some time. 

As the lifeless beings lay limp to our feet, a small army just over yonder, we realized that even with our commendable combat prowess this was a battle we could not win.

Quickly and with utmost haste we assumed our positions behind the heavy masonry on the other side, forcibly pushing against it to shut out the imminent threat.

With all of our strength, driven by our unbreakable will to survive, the weighty stone portal slid coarsely over the rocky floor, leaving an onerous trail of white dust in its wake.

The red mass of malicious entities drew closer. As it did, I espied the bloodied likeness of that detestable wraith materialize from within their ranks. The gate started to close. The animate corpses moving forward at a steady pace. Just a few pushes for us now. For them, only a few steps. 

As the rough sound of stone chafing stone reverberated through my head, we managed to shut the gate at the last second. Just as one of the repulsively processed bodies tried to stick their arm through the slim opening in an effort to slice us. Just as the bloody ghost raced towards the almost sealed entrance. Both arm of the corpse and skull of the wraith were crushed by the solid rock betwixt the two compartments we so recently reunited in defense.

Aforementioned arm fell to the gritty floor and we beheld its runes still emanating a forbidden energy. On the other hand, the tenebrous print on my throat faded into nothingness with the death of that floating monstrosity.

Nephethys produced her dagger from her hip sheath and cut the flesh off the bone with surgical precision. Its joint served as a preliminary hilt. 

"Now I'm murdering them with their own weapons", she enunciated.

Meanwhile we took a second to assess the situation, observing a stream of red run down the perpendicular indentation in the door, creating a crimson puddle.

Out of breath, I aspirated: "That was too close".

The assassin only looked at me with an emotion I could not decode, but I swear to have seen a hint of compassion in her eyes.

I exhaled deeply when I noticed I had been trapped yet again. If we went back we'd get killed. But venturing forward didn't look too promising either. Suffice it to say I had severe trouble keeping my sanity in check.

I felt my courage faltering, threatening to abandon me to leave me to the deathly currents of doubt and despondence. 

But my will to live was still strong. I brushed away my fears before my mind could get the chance to lapse and create the elaborate mirage of that old cellar. I repeatedly told myself that this house didn't exist anymore. For I burned it down so long ago, unheeding towards the fact that it was still inhabited. Back then I thought I could erase my fear by destroying it. Little did I know the guilt from having immolated my parents and my only sibling would stick with me for a lifetime, amplifying my phobia.

I have committed an unspeakable crime. Notwithstanding my guilt I shall absolve myself of that sin. I began viewing my present journey as a test of faith and resolve, at the end of which awaited absolution. I was sunken in thought when Nephethys spoke to me, asking me if I was yet ready to head even deeper into the vaults. I replied positively, shaking off my past memories for the time being. I had a mission now.

VIII

Both of us looked ahead. To find an Ayleid ruin here, of all places, was most intriguing. Its secretive and quite elusive nature dissuaded us somewhat. If any such place was deliberately hidden, we inferred, it must spell danger. 

Our glances inspected the presently vacant corridor of light stonework and faintly glowing crystals giving off a pale, teal luminescence lighting our path. 

"Careful now", Nephethys whispered. "These elder tombs are usually riddled with traps. One wrong step could mean instant death".

As discouraging as this statement was, I couldn't deny how it showed a hint of some professional affection from my shadowy associate.

We marched forward, barely noticing the scarlet traces on the walks, floor and ceiling. One could almost declare us accustomed to this kind of vile environment. A strange sentiment considering my urge to regurgitate digested food not too long ago. 

The Dunmer and I were sure that the bulk of those devious cultists would reside here somewhere and by proxy the last bit of the missing citizens. Maybe, I told my companion, some of them could be saved, still. She didn't believe in that however, shaking her head with a furious expression. I was unsure at the time but now I am fairly certain that she was more agitated towards the prospect of so many Brotherhood contracts being lost than she was concerned about the well-being of the captives.

At length and with cautious steps we reached the end of the dim passage and walked through a rusty, florally adorned gate into a bigger chamber.

I surveyed the room.

The entrance was lined with one pillar on either side, perched on which was one welkynd stone each. The chamber was cubical, about 20 by 20 meters. Every wall sported another rusty Ayleid gate, adjacent to which were also white pillars of the same workmanship.

In the center stood a circular stone bowl not unlike a well. From its inside peeked out a sort of iron mask, featureless, its scalp lined with small spikes connected to each other by some kind of metal wiring. 

The rest of the suspected well appeared to be filled with the same sludge that we had encountered earlier.

Our attempts to move further into the room were put to an abrupt halt when we both saw said mask, that was more akin to a full helmet, move on its own, the black metal writhing. We his behind the two pillars and watched another for to rise up from within the pits.

At once, two arms, one of which outfitted with a heavy steel blade bolted to its flesh, stretched out of the slimy mound. The thing pushed itself up with both limbs and alighted from the grim aperture. It now stood there, oozing, in all its terrible glory.

Plastered on its entire body were thick metal plates, fastened to it with rather big nails and bolts that had been driven into its bones. The creature's naked flesh was almost completely covered in armor. One of the legs was replaced from the knee plate downwards with a strange steel cylinder as a lower leg substitute.

Viscous fluids of all kinds leaked from in between its nailed-on armour.

The head was completely obscured by that helmet without holes for either nose, eyes or mouth.

This 'Guardian', as I shall henceforth call it, should pose a serious threat to us. 

I was stumped on what to do when I heard its extremely heavy, although slightly limping, steps. It probably awoke as a response to our unauthorized presence.

I could hear it meander around, most likely in search of intruders like us. Though, if we couldn't sneak past it, how would we go about dispatching this enemy? I still had one shot in my Cloudbreaker. But the noise might attract unwanted attention. 

Other than that we could only look for weak spots in the thing's armour. It surely was only roughly attached to that being, but they were stout plates of iron and steel, making it rather difficult to cut the actual flesh.

While I occupied myself with devising a strategy with which we could take that thing down, Nephethys hesitated not and threw her dagger right into its back, precisely in between its metal plating.

A bestial howl echoed across the vaults and the newfound for turned around. Blind as it was, it still knew where to go. I was baffled at the elf's boldness but equally stunned at the premise of this hulking creature rushing towards me on the now trembling floor. The Guardian already held its bolted-on blade high in the air and would have split me in half if not for Nephethys who pushed me out of harm's way and slyly evaded the peril that thundered towards the ground.

A noisome whack prompted the ground to quake and crack under its sheer might. 

As I got up and recovered my senses, I slid out my gladius from its scabbard. 

I attacked it from behind. My slashing attempts proved futile against the protective covering but I managed to stab it once in the back.

As the monster let out another cry, Nephethys came cartwheeling towards it, impaling its throat with a finalizing somersault. 

The attempted wail broke up into a gurgling cacophony. As I pulled out my sword, the assassin swung hers sideways to behead the armoured thing. A faint stream of green magic engulfed her for a second and she felt weirdly rejuvenated. 

Then we watched the limp body fall over with a powerful thunk. Nephethys then retrieved her dagger from the Guardian's backside.

My hands were still shaking with nervousness. And as I tried to reclaim my composure I heard steps coming in from all directions.

Out of the three doorways poured several faceless, robed figures. They quickly readied various spells and before Nephethys and I could even fight back, we watched as our bodies weakened by the second. Now, devoid of stamina and with a minimum of life force left, we lay there. Barely able to move even so much as our lips. 

The abominable cultists grabbed us to carry us away, deep into their domain.

Then, my vision went black and darkness held dominion.


	4. Chapter IV

IX

My head throbbed, the buzzing in my ears as loud as thunder. I opened my eyes but failed to see clearly. I shut them again and tried to concentrate. 

Where am I? What happened? As my hands brushed over rough, moist stone and fragments of dirt, memories came rushing back.

We, Nephethys and I, were just engaged in a fight to the death with that steel plated nightmare before we got incapacitated by a large mob of featureless people. Evil magic had brought us to our knees and they carried us away.

My strained muscles, only now regaining some of their strength, burned and stung as if from massive use beyond their limits. With quivering limbs I attempted to push myself up from the ground. While I was still unable to stand, I at least managed to sit upright. I slowly batted my eyelids.

The blur that was my vision gradually reclaimed its usual sharpness, enabling me to properly survey my surroundings. 

I sat in a very small, cave-like room. It appeared to have been carven into the solid rock by usage of rather crude tools. Nothing of the formerly observed Ayleid elegancy was present. This place stood in direct opposition to elven design principles which told me that it must've been an artificially added compartment to the subterranean structure at large. 

It was wet and cold down here and much more filthy than is customary among such ancient entombments. In the center of my new abode lay a small puddle of water with which I could finally cleanse my face and body of all the gruesome grime and grit that I've been picking up over the journey.

At that moment I noticed how I wore nothing but a loincloth. Evidently, all my belongings had been taken by those damnable cultists.

I could only see one exit to this very small cavern that they had stuffed me inside of. An iron gate. Albeit akin to those I had spotted in the ruins, they seemed slightly bent and somewhat broken. Surely, it had been dislodged from its original bearings and reinserted here. It dawned on me that I was situated in a prison cell of some proportion.

The cumbersome prospect of standing up did not deter me from trying. My feeble tries at locomotion were worse than those of a newborn calf. I stumbled forward and groped at the door's iron bars to stabilize myself. By peeking through said bars, I got a grip on the immediate area.

Peering out the feeble looking cage I was in, I espied an entire hallway of unprocessed rock. Dug into the sides was a whole array of holding cells. Some empty, some of them containing incredibly mutilated individuals. One in particular struck me, as their lower half was missing, leaking entrails all over the enclosed space with their last, squeamish grip on life. 

Not long after digesting this unholy sight, my ears picked up on steps slowly coming in from the right where I suspected the exit to be. One of the cultists came into my field of view. With his crimson garments and skin coating. Presumably, he was appointed guard duty for this particular compartment in these hellish pits.

As he passed me by, his 'face', if one could call it that, stared right at me, involuntarily making me feel uneasy and anxious. There was this aura of malign misintent about the figure that threatened to rip apart all hope. I shuddered at the thought of what my body might be submitted to once they would take me out of my rocky prison. 

Thankfully he went out of view fast.

Shortly after, I heard some raucous clanking to my left, deeper into the tunnel. A few punches fell, the sound of a heavy metal construct echoing sharply through the dank cave. The sound of shattered bone mixed with crushed flesh ushered in silence.

Before long I saw the one responsible for these noises. It was Nephethys who gently snuck down the aisle of cells until she noticed me in my confinement. She would deny it a couple moments later but upon spotting me, her distressed frown morphed into a smile.

Like me, she had been largely stripped of her possessions. Only a loincloth covered her groin area. But even in this tenebrous atmosphere of that damp cavern I marveled at her undeniable beauty. 

Her dark grey skin slightly moistened from the surrounding humidity glistened faintly, emphasizing just how muscular her entire body was. The faint light down here reflected off of her, accentuating her body's clean lines and muscle strands underneath her dermal layer among slightly curved hips and legs. A stature like this certainly required years of hard training. Some scars on her extremities and belly area, identifiable by their lighter tan and 'slashed' nature, told of previous combat experience.

Nephethys' hair was also more or less in order again, probably rinsed with the omnipresent water. Her long, voluminous, white wisps sufficiently covered her chest, being held in place by residual wetness from the rinsing.

She didn't talk much. Instead, she motioned me to step back a little. I did as I had been asked to do, even if clumsily for my strength had yet to fully return. Nephethys went on to tightly embrace the iron bars, flexing her muscles. I beheld the raw power held within her as in but a second, the iron door was ripped from the cave wall and thrown aside. Her smile was as caring as it was slightly devious when she hugged me in joy, warmth creeping up my unsuspecting heart.

"Am  _ I _ glad you're still alive! Can you walk?" she asked. I corroborated with a nod, speechless and a bit intimidated as I was at the fact her body was back in full working order in such a short amount of time.

The two of us, now reunited, crept over to the lifeless cultist to salvage off his corpse what we could. A hitherto unprecedented tension emerged between us as we knelt down closely together beside the body in order to desecrate it. Something about our mutually exposed skin made my heart race and her torso quiver a little. After we shot each other somewhat of an affectionate look, we went back to business. Suppressing this emotion that had ambushed us as there were more dire matters to attend to.

We undressed the cultist, yet again gazing at that sickening dermal coating. The fact that loose skin flakes embedded themselves within the crimson robe did repulse us, though we needed at least  _ some _ clothing. So we tore it apart, its top half for Nephethys to wear on her upper body. I took the lower half to protect the remainder of my legs apart from the loincloth. Both of us shuddered when we felt the remains of skin rubbing against our own.

Curiously, the cadaver had a weapon on it. A rare sight considering how all of these zealots seem to be capable of molding their very flesh into terrible armaments. It was a five-tailed whip, attached to each of those tails a set of sharp, hooked blades. I inferred that this thing was presumably more like a tool to them than an actual means of defense or attack. A torture device designed to rend one's meat. 

"Here, you take it. You're gonna need it more than I do", Nephethys said quizzaciously, mocking my inferior combat abilities in comparison to hers. But I took no offense. How could I?

Now that I had armed myself and put on some clothing, if a bit vile, I felt like a proper human being again. Now I would enforce my own law against this terrible, inhuman injustice. Because down here, there were no rules. No protocol. I was free to hail down judgement as I saw fit. And the sentence was death by whip.

The two of us explored the alleged holding area but refrained from liberating any of the hostages despite their pleas. If they were to escape, we agreed, they'd cause unwanted attention. We couldn't afford to get detected now that we were finally free again. 

We exited the damp passage through a by comparison quite narrow aperture in the stone wall. Aside from the pained groans of those still imprisoned behind us, only the sound of our bare feet carried forth among latent darkness. We stepped into what appeared to be a natural underground formation, an actual cave. Also a central hub of sorts for there were visible other entrances into more holding areas in the surrounding walls. For these we cared not, however, since we intended to flee from the looming stalactite and stalagmite formations into the Ayleid ruins ahead, revealing themselves at the far end of the open space we inspected. 

We traveled forward, careful not to slip on the bloody smears and smudges that littered the floor of this cold, stony chamber. 

Through the far opening leading back into the ancient mausoleum of a bygone elven civilization blew a foul current of air caught by our noses. Refreshing though it was, it also assailed our olfactory senses with foetid stenches and pungent odours. The purport of which Nephethys and I were all too familiar with. But us both overcame a noxious shiver as we also smelled a foreign scent. The scent of burnt flesh.

X

We stared at the exit in disgust. I had had the misfortune of smelling charred skin before. Grave retrospections came crashing down on me, shattering my present resolve. My family members, sacrifices to the all consuming flames. Cries of agony provoked a searing headache as I pictured with vivid imagery the mirage of the burning homestead I had been raised in so long ago. A vista superimposed on current reality, clouding my vision for the tasks ahead. The immolation of my parents and sister. They ran screaming like headless chickens in search of a means to put themselves out. But their efforts were for naught as they eventually dropped, limp with crackling bodies. My intent to aid them faltered at the thought of coming near that which I feared most. And so, nothing but ashes would remain, blown away by the gusts of guilt and shame.

Nephethys dragged me back into the real world, dispersing the transparent image of the catastrophe that I had caused years ago. Her palms held my face up to hers. She asked:"Hey! Are you alright?". And as she uttered the question into my hyperventilating mouth and breath touched breath for the briefest of moments, there it was again. This queer sensation that caused my heart to pound and her fingers to gently shake on my cheeks. Maybe it was the fear of my horrid visions. But maybe it was something else. I couldn't tell at the time. 

I slowly lowered her hands with my own, inadvertently stroking her fingers with my thumbs and replied:"Yea, I'm fine. It's just that-".

She cut me off by placing her index finger on my lips, sealing them.

"Whatever it is that bothers you - I don't need to know. Just take care. Know that I'll look after you should the need arise".

I nodded. This moment of unexpected intimacy was quickly torn apart by the incredibly hostile air around us when the corrupted draft encircled our heads.

"Let's move then", I said with vibrating vocal chords.

We moved closer to the source of that insulting smell, an orange glimmer illuminating the mound that emitted the swathing cloud of ardent death. As courageous as we were, she and I needed to also be watchful indeed. Behind every wall, around every corner, under every stone might lurk untold wrath, only waiting for our missteps.

We slithered across the floor towards the sides of the opening, Nephethys assuming position on the right hand side, I myself crouching down left from it. We peered forth into the unknown to be stunned by what transpired in the lengthening shadows of the raging fire over yonder.

A group of hooded men and women, circumjacent to a bonfire above which floated the black, singed corpse of a woman that had been hung from the gallows by rope, adjacent to the fire in question. We observed one of them stepping forward, up the stairs of the wooden gibbet, cutting open the black skin to extract what remains of the blood, collecting it in a small vial. The man then walked over to a white stone bowl that stood in front of the fire, opposite to the execution device, and poured the black-red viscous liquid into it. Strange chanting ensued, resulting in the substance emerging from the bowl on its own. Like a ghost possessing a vessel, the life force drove back into the hung corpse. 

The coal-like cadaver writhed, seemingly instilled with new life, albeit as a slave. The cultists extinguished the burning wood whereunto the woman freed herself from the rope, falling onto the pile of charcoal. Her gasps for air were sickening to listen to as she trod slowly towards a different room, leaving dark footprints on the ground. 

I was thinking. All these rituals were executed with a meticulousness too complex and specific to stem from any lesser intelligence. There must be a deeper meaning to it all. Some reasoning that would at least partly excuse this mindless violence. 

As I tried wrapping my head around things I watched as the cultists dispersed. Two vanished into a space on the left while five others disappeared into a corridor straight ahead. Nephethys and I inhaled deeply and braced the now vacant vault of mad invocations. From here, we spied two exits. The one straight across the room led into the remainder of the Ayleid Sel as I deducted from the pulchritudinous architecture. The one on the left would bring us to another cavernous location containing two big wooden chests, apparently guarded by two cultists that had currently turned their backs on us. We in unison agreed that in one of these chests must be our possessions. So our first task was to go and retrieve them.

We quietly snuck around the steaming logs next to us and closed the distance between us and the robed men we were sure had been assigned guard duty. They wielded no weapons. They didn't talk. They just stood there in their crooked, menacing way. 

Nephethys and I hid out of their sight just in time as they turned around. I got nervous as I drew my whip in preparation. She gave me a sign and the next second, we came barging in, surprising both enemies. With a bafflingly smooth hand gesture I managed to entail the whip's sharp and spiky tails with the throat of one of them, wrapping it around the neck. I pulled hard and ripped it asunder completely, obscene amounts of blood and larynx pieces gushing out, splattering absolutely everywhere in a most gruesome display of bloodthirsty violence.

Nephethys on the other hand somersaulted over her target, landing gracefully on her two feet behind him, turned around and gave him two kicks in his knee pits. After she brought him down, the assassin finished the guy off by breaking his neck. I have never heard such a disgusting sound before but I was glad the fight was over as quickly as we had started it. She was a true killer, no doubt.

Nephethys scoffed at her victim and went over to open the chests. Subsequently, I got bombarded with my armour, coat, sword, dagger and Cloudbreaker as well as the rest of my provisions, almost buried underneath the pile that was my stuff. I dug out from beneath the heap and discarded both whip and robe piece in favour of my own garb and arms. My friend and loyal companion followed suit, donning her trademark black leather armour to then sheath both her one remaining dagger and the runic boneblade she had recently picked up.

"It's time", she announced with a grim voice. 

Now properly armed and dressed, we set out to meet the root of this evil.

XI

Just off to the side the other entrance lay that would lead us back into the frightful domain of hellish apparitions and ghastly blood mages. Now that we were properly equipped again, confidence surged. Albeit we were blissfully unaware of the extent the oncoming calamity would unveil.

We soon found ourselves in a vault of beauteous Ayleid design. The Hidden Ones knew how to construct graceful structures. Although the floor of our present location was stained with indefinable substances of sickly versicolored magnitude. Red, green, yellow, brown, black, grey. All were present in this horrid amalgamation of what we could only hazard a guess as to their actual nature. Unheeding to our pledge of cautious watchfulness we knelt down to inspect the stains more closely. Out in the open we were very visible, prompting three cultists to sprawl forth from an archway off to the right. Behind them I espied something repulsively horrible but I couldn't quite place it yet. Though, I should soon come to know.

In a display of unparalleled reflexes, Nephethys hurled her dagger towards the first of them who stood aggravatingly in the center between the other two. The weapon's blade burrowed deep into his forehead, making him fall over with his occipital bone fracturing on the floor. As a result, the other two, a man and a woman, molded their flesh into disgusting weapons, coming right for our heads. 

I drew my gladius and deflected a potentially fatal blow to my face just in time, coincidentally cutting off the alien limb. I retaliated, slashing at the foe's face, dislodging the jaw. He bled profusely. Now disarmed, he was open to attack. I saw my opportunity and pried his throat wide open as I drove my sword into it.

Next to me, Nephethys made short work of the female adversary. She kicked her chin and excised her larynx in a few seconds. In her bloodlust she tore away at the dermal coating on her face and stuffed the disembodied part into the cultist's lipless mouth.

Another fight won by superior force. We were much too oblivious to all the possible threats down here, we realized. Just as we set off to inspect the chamber I previously saw before the fight took place, our blood froze when a queer voice with an antiquated manner of speech thundered from that room into our ears with a droning deepness. 

"Aaah! Ye awak'd I see. Your prowess in battle warrants initiation. Though, only thy strength is of use to me, Dunmer. The Imperial hath not the might to partake in my reigne. But! I beckon ye, step into my abode and bask in the grandeur of my domain! Let's speak."

To say that we were discombobulated would be an understatement. It appeared as though whomever this dark voice belonged to had been expecting us. From experience I knew that this was usually a bad omen. Even more deathly premonitions filled my already shaken brain when I noticed at least fifteen of these crimson followers conglomerating behind us. My widening eyes made Nephethys aware and she was incredibly fast in shifting her stance, ready for yet another battle. However, she was interrupted at once.

"Bother thyself not with these vermin. Lest thou loosest thy strength which I require of thee. Do waste thy time not with petty affairs. Step into my abode, wouldst thou kindly?"

This insolent manner of verbal expression made Nephethys furious. Her blade in hand, she went ahead into the speaker's chamber. I reminded her that such individuals have a habit of planning for violent reactions to their misdemeanor but she wouldn't listen. So all I could do was to follow her blindly into the abyss.

In a moment's notice, she rushed toward the regally dressed person, jumping to impale his guts to the wall. With a mocking gesture he waved her assault away, causing her to crash into my arms. I helped her on her feet and began to observe this maddening place the likes of which I've never had the imagination to fathom.

In terrified awe I bestowed looks upon the scenery of which I suspected to be a twisted atelier of some proportion. There were strange paintings in this great hall. From left to right it was about fifteen meters of pure artistic carnage, illuminated by an assortment of candles weirdly perched atop small columns of cheese wheels. Every picture was of a peculiar style heretofore unobserved. They were all made of an eight by eight grid, every cubic portion composed of a different material. From blood to skin, flesh, intestinal contents, smushed bone meal all the way up to cranial matter, they all served to paint pictures of unadulterated insanity.

Depicted were various creatures, even ones I could not place. One with strange glowing crystals in what seemed like an Ayleid armour, another just a black wraith-like being. Yet another, a carnal representation of a king in a red robe among many other confusing pieces of 'art'.

Inside the hall was one sole piece of furniture - a defiled Ayleid altar covered to the utmost in each and every substance I just mentioned. Behind this altar, before a gargantuan canvas, stood the proprietor of this place and, by extension, the cult that roamed these abyssal vaults. And the stench. The unbelievable malodorousness reminiscent of iron and nauseous sweetness. It was almost too much to bear.

The person who spoke to us so archaically a few seconds ago was flanked by that charred woman we had witnessed during that invocation. His back still facing us, he took a sip from a golden goblet in his left hand while dipping a brush into an incision in the woman's body with his left, picking up indescribable essences. He made a few strokes before turning around to face us.

His likeness was inhuman. A tall, pale individual of a race I couldn't quite place. Definitely of elven descent, judging by his elongated, pointy ears. As opposed to his underlings, he did not obscure himself with a rippled coat of skin flakes. Thus, I could see his face in the dim, cheese supported candlelight.

Two completely red, incandescent eyes above a small nose. Beneath said nose he sported an evil grin of daemoniac import. His visage was framed by long, blonde hair hanging off his shoulders a little and a small chin beard accentuating his already slim and quaint complexion.

His forehead was adorned by a finely crafted golden crown, embellished with a crimson gem in its center. His choice in apparel didn't betray a royal quality, either. A long sleeved, regal garment of scarlet hue adorned with a belt dressed his upper body. His lower portion was engulfed in a set of the finest woven velvet trousers of light purple shade. 

He glared at us calamitously with his fangs exposed at the smile that never ebbed, drinking from his goblet that I don't want to know the contents of. 

He pointed towards the huge linen blanket covering the entire stone wall of the chamber. A grand piece of malformed art. He spoke, looking at Nephethys:

"Hast thou ever cogitated bringing about life? Didst thou ever try thineself at creation? To walke as a god among mer?"

He turned his back on us to apply some fresh 'paint' to the canvas behind him.

"It requires more than mere paint and simple magicke. The right ingredients are paramount. As is the ethereal art thou concernest thyself with. My loyal servants brought ye hither, as they did the others that belike led ye here. Knowe they can't be saved. For their essences I imparted on my realm, each and every bodie now a slave to my wille."

It all of a sudden dawned on me that we hadn't stumbled upon any old cult. No. These maniacs were of much more grievous concern. 

"Hmm. Thou gazest at my humble canvas, Imperial. Though what thine eyes behold is but a glimpse of the caliginosity it holdes within."

Only then did I inspect the salient image, as large as the wall itself.

It was inherently different towards all the other paintings on display in this horrid place. Not only was it much larger, it was also done with realism in mind rather than cubically structured. It showed spiky mountain ridges impossible to traverse, barren wastelands with extraneous architecture and lifeforms. Queer temples and towers, otherworldly structures and threatening pathways. All framing a devilish city under an umbral sky, created with the essences of all those unlucky citizens. I signed up for clearing a case of abductions. But this? I was not prepared for that kind of iniquity.

"And now", the maniac said, "Thou shalt witness the dominance of thy new king. It is I, Lord Atebid, who awoke the Carnarium and seiz'd the primordial might of the elder ancients. Behold!"

With these words, the mass of robed figures released a set of weakening spells on us, making us defenseless. They then took Nephethys in front of Lord Atebid and held her up by her arms. Simultaneously, three of them held me in a tight grip, forcing me to watch.

"A fine specimen thou art, darke elfe. Thine essence shall serve me as my right hand. Let us begin thy rebirth."

Nephethys' eyes unwillingly widened at the sight of the ritualistic, jagged dagger in Atebid's hand. 

"And thou…", he pointed at me, "shalt bear witnesse!"

I couldn't move, only watch as he began to defile her body. He first knelt down and cut the leather armour off her legs from the knee down, removing also her boots. With the serrated edge of his blade, he began to saw off Nephethys' feet. My friend let out terrified, agonized cries of pain as they dropped to the ground, lifeless as they were. 

"Ah, yes", Atebid mumbled, casting a spell on her to staunch the flow of blood. "Thou shalt not be bled dry, lest my use for thee is forfeit".

He proceeded by making precisely surgical incisions to her legs from the knees all the way down to her stumps and ripped off her skin. The exposed muscles pulsated under her despondent pleas and for a second, my vision faded, all was dark. I fainted. When I came to, I saw as the crazed cult leader sliced away at the wet tissue, opening up her bones to direct tampering. My mind reeled and had my body been strong enough, I'm sure I would've regurgitated my stomach acid in response to such unfathomable violence.

After the surrounding flesh was removed by torturous exercise, leaving only the bones and her knee plates, the bloodied madman suddenly carved them into shape. After an eternity of brutal purgatory, during which I lost consciousness several times, both lower legs had been transformed into the same hideous appendages the bulk of the monsters from the ossuary sported. 

The inhuman procession was topped off by Atebid who engraved the osseous body modifications with alien runes. Nephethys was already too weak to go on screaming but she felt the pain nonetheless. 

"And now. The finishing touch, for thee must be a greater creation than those feeble servants of mine. Rise, flesh!", Atebid announced with a sinister expression. He spoke a phrase, the contents of which I did not catch, whereunto the strange letters began to emit a pale radiance.

But then, something new happened. Out of nowhere, the bones molded under Atebid's witchcraft into fierce, thick and stout blades, much more sturdy than regular bones of any man or mer. Not as thin and easily breakable. By blood magic, he reinforced her new weapons, now to be feared much more than the boneblades we had previously encountered. Her leg swords that now replaced her lower legs and feet we're almost thrice the size of regular ones.

Meanwhile, Nephethys' eyes filled with an unappeasable rancor. Because her legs were now remarkably lightweight, she managed to lift them up, notwithstanding her weakened state, and slash at Atebid's skin. The enchantments bestowed upon her were potent enough to resuscitate her almost instantly. 

As her strength returned to her she broke free of her captors, twirling once with outstretched lower limbs cutting the two zealots in half horizontally.

" _ No _ ! Dost thou not see? Thy future is at my side!", the self-proclaimed lord exclaimed in confusion and shock. With an agile motion, Nephethys stabbed his chest and with another, sliced his throat. But the blood pouring out of his injuries returned to him, sealing the cuts.

"Thine insolence and blasphemy will be paid for in thine own bloode! Thou hast chosen the pathe of perpetual torment. Let the shadows lengthen and the life be spilled. I challenge thee to a duel within my domain."

When he finished complaining, he touched the cyclopean canvas and was sucked in. Now he was gone.

Nephethys shifted her gaze towards the mass of red robes that still held me hostage. All of them prepared themselves for battle. In doing so, to my dismay, they've let go of me and I fell face first onto the stone floor, cracking my nose. I moaned in pain and rolled over to watch the ensuing slaughter.

I was still dazed so I didn't catch all of it, also partly due to my slightly obscured view of the scene. 

In her absolute blood rage, Nephethys screamed with an indefinable emotion of anger and ravaged the enemy forces. I saw her cartwheeling towards the group, instantly dismembering four cultists by locomotion alone and slyly picking up her own boneblade. Now she had three swords at her disposal. With these, she danced and swirled around the opposing attacks, resulting in a tempest of disembodied limbs and innards. One after the other fell to her ravenous hatred, her tools of destruction destroying them all.

Soon, only one cultist remained. Now even he, as emotionless as they appear to be, attempted to flee. But he was held in place by magic I don't remember Nephethys to be capable of. He started floating and the next second, his entire blood was forcefully ripped from him through his pores. He dropped to the ground, dead. By means I did not yet understand, life force was imparted onto me by my Dunmer companion. Control over my body returned and I stood in front of her, breathless. 

And as Nephethys looked at me, her gaze softened, the glow of primordial agitation subsiding, giving way for compassion. 

We embraced each other in victory, notwithstanding her malformed, albeit amplified, self.

Tears ran down her cheeks as her eyes watered and her nose clogged up. "What has he done to me?", she sobbed. After minutes of holding her, she regained her usual composure. Never have I beheld her being as determined as she was at that point in time. She eyed me closely and spoke:

"This antiquated defiler must meet his end by my hand. I will not let myself be destroyed by the likes of him. Say, Thorus. Will you help me?"

I intuitively replied without second thought.

"I would follow you anywhere. Let's brace this enemy together."

The seconds passed. We inadvertently drew each other closer, seeking each other's propinquity. We knew not whence this painted portal would take us should we resolve to step through. To make the figurative leap of faith. But we knew that wherever we would go, nothing, no one, could separate us anymore.


End file.
